


the things we left unsaid

by gilliestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Major Spoilers, Mentions of Chuck - Freeform, Sam-Centric, mentions of Castiel, mentions of jack, post 15x03, sam's bullet wound is super cool, this is just me not giving up on samwena, witch!sam rise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 06:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilliestiel/pseuds/gilliestiel
Summary: Neither of them would ever admit it (if only they had, because just a few weeks later, she would be gone) — but they cared for each other, deeply. They wanted to love each other.(Or: Sam mourns Rowena's death, and remembers what almost was.)





	the things we left unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> hi.
> 
> 15x03 wrecked me, and this is my way of coping.
> 
> enjoy.

Rowena’s death plays in his mind like a recording on repeat. She holds onto him, drawing him closer to her while his hand rests on the blade that presses against her stomach. He wants to pull away, toss that damned thing to the floor because they don’t _need it_ — Rowena doesn’t need to die. (But she does.) She asks him that question, the one he’s still hearing hours later. The one he should’ve answered yes to.

“Will you let the world die, let your brother die, just so I can live?”

She knew that would be the only way to get through to him. Of course she did. That sneaky witch knew Sam better than almost anyone (even better than Dean, in some ways); she knew that Sam didn’t have it within him to let the world crumble beneath the weight of another apocalypse. That’s not who he is. It never has been. So if it was Rowena or the world, or Cas or the world, or _anyone else or the world_, it would always be in Sam’s blood to choose the world, every single time.

But now, as he squeezes his eyelids shut and sees the blood spreading across Rowena’s middle, sees her stepping over Hell’s edge while carrying the weight of a billion souls, Sam wonders why he couldn’t just have both.

He lowers his face into a pair of trembling hands. There are tears brimming at his eyelids — not the first wave of tears today, and he’s sure it won’t be the last. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, desperate to erase the memory from his mind. All that blood. The tear in the earth, slowly closing up over the fiery pit that swallowed Rowena whole. _”That’s my boy.”_

“Sam.” Dean appears in the doorway of Sam’s bedroom, startling the younger brother. He lowers his hands into his lap and looks up, not bothering to hide his broken expression. Dean’s seen him worse for wear countless times, anyway.

“You okay?” the elder asks. He asked him the same question about an hour ago, when he came in here and attempted to give the routine _you had no choice, at least we saved the world_ speech. Sam’s grateful for the gesture, he is, but he doesn’t want to hear it right now. He doesn’t want to think about how they saved the world yet again — and this time, it wasn’t their doing, anyways. It was Rowena. She’s the one who died to save them — to save the world.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asks, because he really doesn’t want to talk about Rowena right now. Not with Dean, not with anyone.

(He doesn’t want to talk about it because that would make her death _real_, and he doesn’t want it to be real yet. He just wants her here.)

“Gone,” is Dean’s vague answer. There’s a trace of venom in his voice, along with something else Sam can’t quite put his finger on. Dean’s doing a pretty good job at masking his feelings for Sam’s sake. He’ll give him credit for that.

“What do you mean _gone_?” Sam asks.

“Needs a break, I guess. You want something to drink?” Dean’s sudden eagerness to change the subject doesn’t go unnoticed by Sam. He knows something much bigger is going on between Dean and Cas (hell, you can just _sense_ it when you stand beside the two of them), but if he’s being totally honest, he doesn’t give two shits right now. That’s Dean’s mess to clean up, and right now — well, right now, Sam’s got some problems of his own.

(He doesn’t say a word about it to Dean, but a sharp pain runs through his shoulder. The aches come and go, brought on by the Equalizer wound, no doubt. He barely gives it a second thought, however, not when the events of earlier are still the freshest wound he bears.)

“I’m okay,” Sam says. “I think I’ll probably just get some shut-eye.”

“Okay.” Dean turns to leave, but not without sparing one more concerned glance at his little brother. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“Yeah.” Sam nods weakly. “I will.”

Dean leaves, and Sam falls back onto his mattress, the back of his head roughly hitting his pillow. He doesn’t have much energy left, so he falls asleep in his flannel and jeans, though it takes him a while. And even as unconsciousness wraps him up like a pitch, dark blanket, he still can’t shake the memory of a certain red-haired witch.

_I’m sorry, Rowena,_ he thinks, as the tears dry on his face. _I’m so, so sorry._

-

The pain only gets worse. Not just the pain of losing Rowena, but the pain in his shoulder, too.

He starts to avoid Dean, if only just a little bit. He tries not to make it _too_ obvious that he’s hiding from his older brother, but he just doesn’t want him to worry. What used to be an injury that acted up once or twice a day now has him in constant agony, and sometimes, he needs to find a way to be alone so he can just _cry_, because it hurts so fucking much. He’s never felt anything like it. He’s been shot before — too many times to count, really — but for some reason, this is different. He supposes the wound _was_ caused by a terribly angry, all-powerful villain, and maybe that’s why it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. The bullet was crafted by magic, but not just any magic — dark, evil magic that was meant to kill Jack, one of the only people Sam knew who could have rivaled Chuck.

But now, Jack’s gone, Rowena is still gone, and Sam is in so much pain he can barely breathe.

He makes up an excuse for Dean to get out of the bunker — “I’m hungry, can you get us some pizza?” — and barely takes notice of Dean’s disgruntled expression as the older brother walks out. As soon as he hears the door slam shut, Sam lets out the agonized gasp he’d been holding in for nearly an hour. He makes a beeline for the bathroom while his hands fumble with the buttons on his shirt. Once he reaches the mirror, he pushes the unbuttoned shirt down past his arms and recoils at the sight of his shoulder reflected by the glass.

The wound definitely looks infected. The hole where the bullet broke past his skin has turned a shade of deep red — like the color of blood, but darker. Thin lines of crimson extend from the wound and travel across his skin like spiderwebs, nearly coating his entire shoulder.

It’s nothing like he’s ever seen before, and it terrifies him.

Sam reaches up with one hand to gingerly touch his shoulder, but the moment skin meets skin, he’s overwhelmed with a pain that seems to set his body on fire. He doesn’t remember much of what happens during those next few seconds — he thinks he might have blacked out — but he knows for certain that touching the wound was like pulling a trigger. The second his hand makes contact, a gate in his mind busts open and he’s flooded with flashbacks of trauma, memories he’s tried his hardest to bury for years. He sees himself drinking demon blood. He sees a man in a crisp, white suit — a man he knows is not him, but gleefully wears his body. He sees Dean dying, he sees Cas and Jack dying, and—

There she is again.

_”Goodbye, boys.”_

Sam wakes up with a gasp on the floor of the bathroom. He’s not sure how he ended up on the ground, or even how long he was unconscious for, but he’s lucky enough Dean hasn’t come home yet. He sits up, pressing his back against the wall and pulling his knees to his chest. He can’t control the flow of tears that overtakes him once again, nor can he put a stop to the panic that wrecks his body.

He just feels so _guilty_.

He never wanted Rowena to die. That was never a part of the plan. It all happened so fast — the original spell didn’t work out, and all of a sudden Rowena was carving her last resurrection seal out of her shoulder and placing a blade in Sam’s hand.

_”It has to be you that kills me.”_

She never should have died. It was never supposed to happen. Not like that.

And now, she’s all Sam can think about. The blood on her dress. All the souls from Hell pouring into her body, like she was nothing but a vessel that they would discard as soon as the crack in the earth closed up. (Which is surely what had happened — Rowena had said her body would crumble under the weight of the souls until nothing remained.)

But her death is not the only thing Sam remembers.

He winces as a new kind of pain blossoms in his chest, his heart longing for the bond he shared with the witch and all the things they left unsaid.

—

_“Samuel,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”_

_He rolled over on his side, his eyes adjusting to the dark room. As he squinted against the shadows, he could just make out Rowena’s head of scarlet hair, along with the lipstick smudged around the edges of her smile._

_“Yeah,” he said. “I’m awake.”_

_“You were pretty good at that,” Rowena commented, reaching over to trace a finger across Sam’s bare chest. He smiled a little sheepishly, his cheeks turning warm._

_“You were better.”_

_“Can’t argue with you there, my boy,” she teased. “Maybe I ‘ought to teach you a thing or two.”_

_Sam fell quiet. As much as he wanted to capture Rowena’s lips in another kiss and go for a round two, something stopped him. It was like the blood in his veins froze, chilled by a fear he was sure he had kept locked away for years._

_“Sam?” Rowena’s voice softened as soon as she realized something was wrong. “Is everything alright?”_

_“Yeah,” Sam said. “Yeah, I… I’m just—” He stopped with a frustrated sigh, because the words rested on the tip of his tongue and he just didn’t want to let them fall. He rolled over onto his back, glueing his eyes to the cracks in the ceiling._

_Unfortunately for him, Rowena seemed to have the ability to read his mind. (Though he truly wouldn’t have been surprised if that was actually one of her powers, knowing her.)_

_“You think this should be a one time thing.”_

_Sam looked over at her. He could make out the expression on her face now, his eyes well adjusted to the darkness of midnight in the bunker. She didn’t look hurt or offended, which is what Sam might have expected, had the woman lying next to him been someone else. Rather, she looked understanding. Like she knew what was on his mind, and she saw it coming from a mile away._

_“Everyone I’ve ever been with,” Sam said. “It hasn’t… it never ends well.”_

_“I’m not afraid of what might happen, Samuel,” Rowena replied. “Fate has already decided that you’ll be my undoing, hasn’t it?”_

_“Stop.” He turned his head away. “Can we… can we not talk about that? Please, I just…” His voice trailed off, the sudden whirlwind of emotions rendering him speechless. He couldn’t think about losing Rowena. Not right now. Not when they lay side-by-side, tangled up in his bed sheets, sweat drying on their skin. He could still taste her on his lips, and he craved more of it, but not just the sex. He craved the connection he felt with the witch. He craved the bond they shared, a bond he was sure he’d never shared with anyone else before._

_He craved that feeling of their hearts intertwining, their bodies becoming one — like it was always meant to be this way._

_But he couldn’t._

_He couldn’t let himself fall in love again._

_(Because everyone he fell in love with always died,_

_and if Rowena was fated to die at his hands?_

_Well, that made it even worse.)_

_“I’m not afraid of you, Sam,” Rowena whispered. She shifted her body closer to his, tentatively placing her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. She was so small, so gentle, and yet at the same time, she was the only thing capable of setting his soul on fire. She was insufferable at times, with her snarky comments and witty remarks. She was playful grins and pure magic and stolen kisses at midnight, and here she was, relentless, wanting him as much as he wanted her._

_Neither of them would ever admit it (if only they had, because just a few weeks later, she would be gone) — but they cared for each other, deeply. They wanted to love each other._

_If Sam was capable of letting his walls down, and if Rowena realized that love was more than weakness, then maybe, just maybe, they would have._

—

Sam thinks he might be going crazy.

He decides to go out for a walk one evening, get some fresh air. Dean took a case in Sioux Falls with Jody — a little vampire issue, nothing too serious. He wanted Sam to tag along, but it’s been less than a week since Rowena died, and Sam doesn’t cope with tragedy the same way Dean does. While his brother lets off steam by chopping off vampire heads with a machete, Sam thinks a better way to heal might be to walk around town for a bit, maybe stop by a café for a late night cup of joe. He wants to take his mind off Rowena somehow, and killing monsters — seeing all that blood — he’ll just start seeing the blood that stained his hands after…

_Stop,_ he thinks. He’s sitting at a booth in a tiny coffee shop, empty save for an awkward teenage couple getting to know each other over some iced lattes. Feeling suddenly restless, he grabs his coffee and high-tails it out of there, desperate to find something else to focus his attention on. Anything to get those memories out of his mind.

He rounds a corner and finds himself in an alleyway. He heaves a sigh, leaning against the brick wall. He can feel beads of sweat forming on his face and neck, and he tries to steady his breathing, tries not to think about it, about _her._

The panic subsides after a few moments, maybe a few minutes, Sam isn’t really sure. When it passes, he straightens up and inhales deeply. He settles his gaze on Lebanon’s sunset, watching as the sun disappears from the sky and the clouds overhead are washed out with a shade of deep, dark blue. It’s a nice night, the air is clean, a cool breeze ruffles Sam’s hair and he thinks he’ll be okay. He will. He takes another deep breath before bringing his coffee to his lips.

“Samuel.”

The styrofoam cup slips out of his hand and hits his feet. Coffee splatters across his shoes, but Sam doesn’t care — because he heard her — it was _her._

He heard Rowena’s voice, clear as day. It sounded like she was standing right next to him. But when he spins around to find her, he finds himself alone in the alleyway, and it hits him — she’s not there. She’s dead.

_“Samuel, it’s me.”_

Sam grabs onto the sides of his head, his nails digging into his scalp. Her voice, it sounds so _real_ — but it’s just in his head. She’s not here. She’s dead. This isn’t real.

_“Help me, Sam.”_

“Stop,” Sam mutters. “Please, please, just _stop._ This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”

The more he says those three words to himself, the quicker Rowena’s voice seems to fade. He can’t seem to breathe, his throat feels tight with the tears that threaten their arrival — but she’s not here. He’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse, but he doesn’t want to stick around here to find out. He should sleep, or call up Dean and check on how the hunt is going. Maybe he’ll text Cas — he hasn’t heard from the angel in a while, and Dean still hasn’t told him where he went — but Sam just needs a dose of reality.

Rowena’s voice? Not real. _Not real._ She’s dead.

(The pain that lights up his shoulders as Sam hurries home, leaving the discarded coffee cup behind?

Definitely real.)

—

Hearing her voice is only the beginning.

At first, he hears her every once in a while throughout the day. It starts out as a whisper, a breathy voice right by his ear — quiet, but clear enough that he knows it’s her. She’s usually just saying his name, asking him for help, wondering if he’s there. He knows it’s not real, though. It’s just some sort of fucked up way for his mind to relive the trauma of losing her. People see and hear the people they care about everywhere after they die.

(That’s what he told himself when Bobby died, and days later, Bobby showed up as a ghost.

But there’s no way Rowena’s a _ghost_.

He watched her fall into Hell — he saw the ground close up over her body.)

He tries to tune out her voice, but what starts out as a brief whisper turns into a daily struggle. He’s hearing her when he wakes up and when he goes to sleep. He hears her when he and Dean have burgers for lunch, or share a drink at the map table.

She’s still calling out to him when Sam forces himself to go on a hunt with Dean. It’s just a ghost thing, easy enough — but Sam’s so fucking sloppy and nearly gets himself and Dean killed because he just can’t get Rowena’s voice out of his head.

Dean’s worried about him. Sam can tell his brother is starting to notice that this is more than just grief. It’s getting to his head in a way that could be dangerous for the both of them.

But Sam doesn’t want to tell him.

(Because then he’ll have to admit that he’s losing his mind.)

And there’s something else, something that scares him a little more than the witch’s voice engraved in his brain. It’s the fact that his shoulder is in constant pain now, and the infection is starting to inch its way down his arm. Of course, Dean doesn’t know about this, because Sam keeps his arms hidden under layers of flannel. It’s okay — it’s not a big deal. It’s just a wound; it’ll heal. He doesn’t want Dean to worry more than he already is, about Cas, or about the fact that Chuck was in control of their lives this entire time and Sam doesn’t know how to tell Dean otherwise.

The wound seems to be more than just a wound, though. Sam isn’t just hearing voices anymore — he’s seeing things, too. He’ll look in the mirror and see himself dressed in white. He blinks and he’s back to normal, but he can’t shake the feeling that maybe — just maybe — that reflection was _real._

Maybe the wound is trying to tell him something.

He sees the Mark of Cain show up on Dean’s forearm. He knows it’s not there, because they got that thing off years ago, but maybe it _is_ there. Or it will be. Sam’s not really sure anymore.

And when he goes to sleep and sees himself, with black eyes, snapping his brother’s neck with a tilt of his head—

He knows it’s not real.

(Or does he?

It _feels_ real.)

And yet, all of this — these images in his mind, the hallucinations that flash across his gaze for a fraction of a second, all accompanied with the pain in his shoulder — none of them prepare him for what he sees in his room at midnight, exactly two weeks following Rowena’s death.

He sits on the edge of his bed, his shirt heavy with sweat. He’s pretty sure Dean’s asleep and won’t barge in unannounced like he tends to do sometimes, so he peels the shirt off and tosses it to the floor. He cranes his head towards his shoulder, which is now nearly blackened, akin to a nasty bruise. He drops his head back, his face turned towards the ceiling. It’s hard to breathe through the pain — it’s worse tonight, a lot worse — but he tries. Inhale, exhale.

“Samuel.”

“No.” Sam squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “You’re not real.”

A hand rests against his, and Sam nearly jumps off the bed. He opens his eyes and whips his head around, and there she is — real and _alive_, sitting beside him on the mattress. There’s not a trace of death on her, no sign that she ever sacrificed herself to save the world. She greets him with a glowing smile, her eyes sparkling at him under lids coated with eyeshadow. Her hair is down, and it bounces off her shoulders like waves of fire. She’s so beautiful and she’s _here_.

“Rowena?” he whispers.

“That’s right,” she says. “I’m here, Sam.”

He should tell himself it isn’t real. He _knows_ it isn’t, but right now, all he wants to do is shove that thought to the back of his mind. He wraps his arms around Rowena and pulls her to his chest. He can touch her, and she feels warm, which means there’s blood running through her veins, which means she’s _alive_.

“How…” Sam pulls away, but he keeps his hands on Rowena’s arms, desperate not to let go of her again. “How are you here?”

“Sam.” Rowena’s eyes soften. She reaches up and cups the side of his face with a gentle hand. She smiles at him, but her smile looks sad, _so_ sad, and Sam’s heart drops.

It’s just another hallucination.

“You’re really dead,” Sam says. “Aren’t you?”

Rowena nods slowly. Sam drops his hands away from her arms and places them blindly on the mattress, unsure of what to do next. He’s not even sure what to _think_, because of course she’s not real, but she _is_. She’s here. He can feel her.

Why isn’t she real?

_It’s not fair._

“Why…” Sam shakes his head. He doesn’t even try to stop the tears — he just lets them come. “Why is this happening to me?”

Rowena moves her hand away from his face and rests her palm against his wound. It’s the gentlest of touches, and Sam doesn’t even flinch. He’s just aware of her touch, and it fucks with his mind, because she’s here and she’s _not_, all at the same time.

“That’s some magic you’ve got running through your veins,” she says.

Sam looks at her. The tears have begun to cloud his vision, but he can still make out her expression. It’s one of curiosity. She’s intrigued. Careful not to put too much pressure on the wound, she moves her body towards Sam, peering down at his shoulder to get a closer look.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Sam says. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“I might have an idea.” Rowena looks back up at him. Her hands return to his face, and she brings their foreheads together with care. “I can help you, Samuel.”

“How?” Sam asks, his voice breaking. “You’re dead.”

“My body may be dead,” Rowena says, lowering her hands. “But my soul is very much alive.”

Sam pulls his head away to stare at her, bewildered. “What are you saying?”

“Samuel, this wound of yours — it’s defying all the laws of magic. I can feel its power all the way down here in Hell. It’s raw and untamed, and so strong.”

“You mean—” Sam protectively reaches for her hand, locking their fingers together. “You’re in Hell right now?”

As soon as the question slips past his lips, he knows how stupid it sounds.

Of course she’s in Hell.

She stepped over the edge to Hell, carrying the weight of every single damned soul to return _to Hell_. She’s in the worst place imaginable, a victim of endless torture — and yet, somehow she’s _here_ too, safe, with Sam.

“I am,” Rowena says. “But something about this wound of yours has allowed me to come and speak with you. Like I said, it’s defying all the laws of magic. I can’t quite comprehend its power, but I can feel it opening gateways to other dimensions, doors to the past and to the future.”

Sam thinks back to everything he’s been seeing over the past couple of weeks, and it starts to make sense.

“I saw Dean with the Mark of Cain, even though we got rid of it years ago,” Sam says. “I saw… I saw myself, but it wasn’t _me_ — it was Lucifer wearing my body. That happened years ago, too.”

“Sam.” Rowena gives his hand a squeeze. “I think Chuck may be planning something awful, and I have reason to believe the wound on your shoulder is trying to warn you about it.”

Together, they glance at his shoulder. For the first time in weeks, he’s able to silence the pain and notice something else instead.

He feels it.

There is magic running through his veins.

“What do I do, Rowena?” he asks, panic rising in his voice.

“I can help you,” she says. “I can teach you how to control it, understand what it all means. But I can’t do it from down here, Sam.”

“I’ll get you out,” Sam says. “There has to be a way.”

Rowena smiles. She lifts their still intertwined hands to her lips and places a warm kiss to the top of Sam’s knuckles.

“That’s my boy,” she whispers.

Sam can’t help himself. He’s overcome with too much emotion to handle — fear, confusion, _love_. So screw it — maybe it’s not real, maybe it’s a hallucination, or maybe Rowena is really here, using magic to speak to him from Hell. She sounds real, she feels real. And when he impulsively presses his lips against hers, kissing her like it’s the only thing he was made to do, he knows in his heart that she _is_ real.

She kisses him back with reckless abandon, letting go of his hand so she can link her arms around his neck. Sam relishes in every moment, feeling her, _loving_ her, because he never got to do it until it was too late.

“Rowena,” he mutters into the kiss. “I love you.”

“I know, Samuel,” she says.

She breaks the kiss, and Sam wonders why, until he sees that she’s fading. Her body is disappearing into oblivion, piece by piece, but that smile never leaves her face.

“I’ll come and get you,” Sam promises. “I will.”

The smile on Rowena’s face grows even wider, and there’s a knowing glint in her eye.

“I wouldn’t doubt it for a second.”

He blinks and she’s gone, but so is Sam’s fear. His shoulder hurts again, but he’s now completely aware of the magic coursing through his entire body. Rowena was right — it’s raw, untamed power, and he feels stronger now that he knows what the magic is trying to tell him.

“Thank you, Rowena,” he says to the empty room.

With a clear mind, Sam can start to formulate a plan. Rescue Rowena from Hell, somehow (it’s not impossible, he’s pulled off crazier feats before), and figure out what exactly this wound is trying to tell him. He should tell Dean. Now that he’s got it figured out, telling Dean doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

Before he stands up from the bed, Sam lifts a finger to his lips. He can still feel the aftermath of a very real kiss, and taste the lip gloss of a very real witch.

Despite all the words left unsaid, Sam is grateful he had a chance to see her again and tell her the only thing that matters—

—that he loves her, and he always will.

(And it won’t be the last time he says it, because he _will_ see her again.)

**Author's Note:**

> SAMWENA NATION RISE.
> 
> i won't give up hope for these two.
> 
> *cue quiet sobbing in the corner, because we all know rowena is dead and she's not coming back*
> 
> anyways. i hope y'all enjoyed this!! kudos & comments are appreciated, as always. <3
> 
> do you like samwena? follow me on twitter, because i talk about these two constantly. @jenmlshalecki


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